Fault
by claihm solais
Summary: A short introspection into the episode, Fault. What if Olivia's injury had been lifethreatening? What if the police sniper hadn't arrived in time?
1. One: Him

**Fault **

A _Law & Order: SVU_ short story

By Patrick Nguyen Huu

_Disclaimer_: I don't own the characters of L&O, nor do I have any rights to the wonderful people who portray them.

_Summary_: Short introspection into the episode "Fault." What would happen if Olivia's injury **had** been life-threatening? Or the police sniper hadn't arrived in time?

One: Him

It went so fast. One moment I'm staring at the boy, the next I hear a scream to my side. Olivia's on the ground, and our man's getting away. I linger for an instant, caught between wanting to grab the boy and helping Olivia. It doesn't take much more than that; the boy will have to fend for himself a moment longer. I don't even remember taking the handful of steps to her side as I kneel next to her, gently trying to pry her fingers from around the cut on her throat.

She finally removes her hand, and I fight the urge to retch. It's a nasty cut, and from the looks of it, it probably nicked an artery. And there's the blood. So much blood. It's pooling around her already, even as I pull out my hankerchief and press it to the wound, it seeps through, onto my hands.

"Oh god, Olivia. Stay with me." The words don't register; it feels as if I'm not the one saying them. She opens her mouth, trying to speak, but chokes and coughs up more blood. Her free hand – the one that is not on mine, pressing the 'kerchief to her neck – rises shakily, pointing in the direction Victor has taken with the two kids. I glance down at her, and shake my head. Her eyes harden. She's telling me to go after him, to not let him get away.

There's really no choice for me. I know it's my duty to go after the guy and make sure he damn well pays for what he's done. I know it's my duty to make sure those two kids make it out alive. But it's a choice between my partner's life and someone else. And it's not a choice at all, really.

Yes. She means that much to me. Sometimes, it hurts to care. The EMTs arrive, and as soon as they have her surrounded and on a stretcher, wheeling her out of the terminal, I rise, and turn towards the escalator he's taken. My hands find the cool grip of my service weapon, smearing Liv's blood all over the handle. I don't care. I rush up the stairs to see a crowd of people. Fin is there, and as soon as he sees me, he turns and blocks my way.

"Don't. You don't wanna see this," he tells me. I push past him, too angry to care, but what I see feels like a blow to the gut. There, lying in a pool of blood, is Ryan, his throat slit. I nearly empty my lunch onto the ground.

V-----------------V

"I was going to say, in a situation like that, there is no good choice," I almost don't listen to Huang, but the man's got this weird quality that makes you listen to what he says, even if you don't want to. "Every choice becomes a sacrifice."

I turn to glare at him, but he shrugs it off. "That's right. It's my fault. It was my choice. I choose to help Olivia."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Huang frowns. I think the good doctor misunderstands my situation. It's not about making the right choice – deep down, I know it wouldn't have mattered who it would have been; if I had to choose between Liv and them, I'll always choose her.

"I let him get away, George. I let him get away and kill a child. And I don't regret it." I smirk coldly as realization dawns on him. He stares at me intently. "You had to choose between saving Olivia's life, or that of the kid. Would you do it again, given the same situation?"

This time, there's no hesitation. I nod. "Yes." And then I walk out the door.

V-----------------V

I stand, outside the ICU ward of St. Anne's. She's alive, barely, hanging on by a thread. I know she'll pull through. She's been a fighter for as long as I've known her. She'll fight tooth and nail to live. But standing here, looking through the window at her prone form, lying on the crisply white hospital sheets, so pale from the blood loss, surrounded by the sterility of a hospital…it's wrong, somehow. She doesn't belong here.

She belongs out there, on the streets, chasing down the bastard that did this to her. She belongs at my side. It's odd, what nearly loosing her made me realize. There is something to that old saying, "you never know what you have until you lost it," after all. For as long as I've known her, despite all our arguments, and fights, and disagreements, we were there for each other. She always had my back, and I had hers.

We are best friends, colleagues, partners. We are both more and less than lovers, not physically, but emotionally and mentally. We know the other so well, we automatically compensate when the other's a bit off.

She doesn't belong in that bed. She belongs with me, out there. And I'll make damn sure that he pays for this.


	2. Two: Her

Two: Her

I try not to show it, but my hand is shaking. Why? It's not the first time I've used it, far from it. It's not the first time I've been in such a situation, either. Perps have taken hostages before, sometimes even police officers. I've been there and back. I've taken shots like these before, and I was always right on the mark.

So why am I hesitating now? It's a rhethorical question, really. I already know the answer to that. Does it make me hesitate? Yes. Does it make me afraid? Yes. I'm scared. I don't want to shoot, because I know that there's a bit of truth in Victor's lies. There's a chance that he can pull the trigger on his shotgun before he dies. There's a chance that I miss him. There's a chance that I miss him and hit Elliot.

Elliot. Why did he have to go and get us into this mess? I want to blame him, curse him, but I can't. He's shouting at me to take the shot, to take my chances. The same chance I've taken before. I've never missed my mark.

But now, I'm not so sure. I wait, try to talk, try to stall until the reinforcements get here.

To be perfectly honest, I don't want to take the shot. If it were anyone else's life on the line, I'd do it without batting an eye. But this is Elliot. My partner. My best friend. The best damn thing that ever happened to me. No matter what happens, no matter how badly we screw up, we're always there to bring the other down a peg or two, or cheer each other up. He's got my back, and I'd bet my life on him. We're closer than husband and wife, we know the other better than we know ourselves.

Do I care for him? Hell yes. His is the one life I refuse to gamble with, including my own. If I lost him now, after all we've been through together, I don't know if I could handle the job anymore. I don't know if I could handle anything anymore.

Victor's making empty promises, trying to save his own neck. He has to realize there's no way out for him. Elliot catches my eye. "Take the shot," he says. His voice is calm, collected, a stark contrast to Victor's mindless babbling. I shake my head, but something in his eyes pleads with me.

"I made a choice, Olivia, back at the bus station. I don't regret it, but it was wrong. Don't make my mistake, Liv." His eyes are boring into mine with an intensity that makes me want to turn away, but I can't.

I fight to hold back the tears that want to come, and grip the pistol tighter, wishing for a small miracle. I want to hate him for the choice he's forcing upon me. How could he make me choose between his life and Victor's next victim's? I try to steady my grip, and raise the pistol, until I have a clean line of fire at Victor's head. "I'm sorry," I whisper, before starting to squeeze the trigger.

Elliot smiles softly, closing his eyes and waiting for the sound of the gunshot. He trusts me. He trusts me to take this shot, do my job, prevent Victor from killing anyone else…and not regretting it afterwards.

I can't. I can't take the risk and not regret it. Elliot means too much to me. I relax my hold on the gun and slowly place it on the ground. Victor's eyes widen, as do Elliot's. The shotgun swivels, and I can see the horror in Elliot's eyes as the shot echoes through the derelict warehouse.

My eyes must show the same shock that's in Victor's. Elliot just smiles and slowly sinks back against a crate, leaving a bloody smear as he slides to the ground, both his hands still holding firmly onto the barrel of the shotgun. I have the presence of mind to dive for my pistol; even as Victor turns to run, I snap off two quick rounds that pierce his back. Sirens can be heard from outside, reinforcements are arriving. I don't care.

I crawl over to where Elliot sits slumped in a growing pool of his own blood. It's a miracle he's still alive, but we both know he's not going to make it. I still can't believe it, can't believe the way he swung himself into the way of the shells that were meant for me.

He cracks one eye open and smiles weakly. "Shoulda taken the shot," he tries to chuckle, but coughs up blood, instead. Before I can say anything, he's got a hand on mine. "It's okay, Liv. I would've made the same choice, too."

"I'm sorry, so sorry," the words come out of my mouth as a whisper so soft, I'm not even really sure if I said them, but he just shrugs and closes his eyes. "Don't be." And without my knowing, my tears start to fall, mixing with his blood, even as the EMTs wheel him away.


End file.
